


a certain equity

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: Riddick (2013), The Chronicles of Riddick (2004), The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: Riddick had been expecting mercs to show up chasing him on Helion Prime.  He hadn't been expecting another Johns.





	a certain equity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [araydre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/araydre/gifts).



> Details mined from most of Riddick canon, including all three movies, Johns' chase logs on the Pitch Black DVD, Dark Fury, and the Butcher Bay game cutscenes.

None of what had happened on Helion Prime had come as much of a surprise to Riddick. Betrayed by someone he'd thought he could trust; asked for shit it wasn't his job to give; hunted by creatures that wanted nothing more than to see him dead. Story of his life so far, give or take a few details. Only the Furyan thing was really new, and all that had brought him so far was a death sentence and some fucked up nightmares.

Running from the Necromonger base ship with a troop transport on his heels was pretty much par for the course; the strangers with the rocket launchers who knocked it out of the night sky, not much of a shocker either. He'd left Toombs alive on the iceworld of UV 6, stripped of his gear and crew and still hungry for Riddick's bounty, and most private ships these days carried a tracker. He'd thought he'd have more time before the merc collected a new crew and caught up again, but it was probably just as well considering the anthill he'd just kicked over.

"Let me guess. A five man crew this time," he drawled, glancing over his shoulder toward the dark shapes of his newest pursuers. The city around them had gone mostly dark, lit only by the flicker of burning buildings, like that last run during the eclipse in M-344/G. But there were no alien monsters waiting in the shadows on _this_ world. Only the human variety.

He’d counted multiple projectiles fired toward the troop ship; the three at the back of the group, all shiny armored gear and big weapons braced against their shoulders, illustrated where those had come from. Two more guys walked just in front of the shooters, confirming his conjecture: one broad through the chest and wearing gear like the trio, the second taller and shrouded in a deeply hooded cloak. None of the five were as big as the Necromonger he’d ghosted for killing the Imam, but they moved like soldiers, which could make things interesting if he had to fight it out. 

Good thing fighting wasn’t part of the plan. 

The taller one threw back his hood; short dark curls and a scruff of beard framed a familiar, self-satisfied expression. Toombs, as expected, none the worse for wear after his frosty adventure. “Couple of things you could have done better,” he snarked, roughly echoing what Riddick had said before leaving him behind.

The second guy didn’t let him finish the speech, though; and that actually _was_ a surprise. From the merc's posture and the look of distaste on his blunt, stern face, _he_ was the shot-caller of the group, not Toombs. “But we’re not here to educate him on what he missed, we’re here to take him off this rock before the rest of the invasion fleet takes notice," he said, briskly. "Moss?”

One of the three rocket slingers responded to that, firelight flickering off a skull as bald as Riddick’s own. Moss handed his weapon off to one of the others – a statuesque blonde with a no-nonsense expression who looked distinctly unimpressed with everything about the scene in front of her – and strode forward, unhooking a set of binders from his belt.

It was all one to Riddick exactly _who_ took him off the planet, so long as it wasn’t Necromongers, but dealing with a tighter-run crew might complicate matters when they got where they were going.

He hadn’t got anywhere in his life by playing it safe, though. So why start now? He locked eyes with the apparent leader and tipped his chin up, spreading empty hands for the cuffs. “What took you so long?”

The barb hit home; the stranger’s eyes narrowed, and something glinted in their depths that piqued Riddick's curiosity. He’d killed a lot of people in his years as a fugitive, been blamed for taking out even more, and occasionally even left a survivor who hadn't explicitly got in his way. But whatever the reason, the passage of time still burned at this one like acid. He'd have to remember that, when the time came to make his move.

"Might wish you hadn't asked that, we get where we're going," the guy replied, a mirthless smile tucking back the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah? And just who is it I'll have to thank for the transport?" Riddick asked, cocking his head as the binders clicked closed around his wrists.

Dark eyes dropped to the metal now trapping his hands, then rose to meet Riddick's again, filled with grim satisfaction. "You'll find out soon enough. Time to go, guys. Back to the ship!"

Moss' eyes flicked dismissively over Riddick before he shook his head and followed. "Thought you said this guy was a challenge, Toombs," he snorted.

"Hey, watch it, we ain't turned him in yet," Toombs snapped in reply, eyeing Riddick warily as he trailed in Moss' wake. "You think I lied? I'd like to _live_ to collect my twenty percent fee."

The two still unnamed mercs followed next: the blonde's eyes scorching with contempt, the last one's intrigued, in a staring-at-a-tiger sort of way. Riddick watched them go, then met gazes with their shot-caller again, lifting a brow in wry commentary. "Twenty percent, huh? Better be careful when we get to the slam; Toombs is the type to think knockin' one of you off means his cut goes up another five, free and clear."

"Oh, I don't think that's going to be an issue." The other man failed to elaborate on that either, approaching to take the binders between Riddick's wrists in a firm grip.

Up close, the years on the guy were more obvious, signaled by the gray salting his short, dark hair and the lines creasing his forehead and bracketing his mouth. An old soldier, this one; an old, _skilled_ soldier, with all the formidable nature that that implied. And somehow ... _familiar_ , though Riddick still couldn't bring to mind the reason.

"We'll see," he responded in a low growl. And for a change, found himself interested enough to actually look forward to the answer.

* * *

Part of the merc's meaning came clear when the ship clawed its way out of atmo, then promptly set a course out-system, rather than setting up for the ion drive. Riddick had expected them to head for Crematoria, whether they let him get a word in edgewise about his fate or not; it was the nearest triple-max slam established enough to be willing to pay for him, difficult enough to leave that they could expect to collect a prisoner's stipend from the government for a long, long time. The factors that had got Jack sentenced to that place, in particular, should have been even easier to figure when it came time to decide what to do with _him_. But the old fox didn't ask, or even bother to explain when Toombs took one look at the course screen and started swearing about double crosses.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll get your money," the boss said, barely sparing a glance for the other merc. His gaze was still fixed on Riddick, heavy and dark with a promise Riddick didn't yet have the key to decipher, but he clearly didn't give a damn about Toombs' priorities. "We're just going to set down on a quiet little corner first and have ourselves a _conversation_."

The way he drew the last word out made Riddick sure there'd be more than just words traded between them; and he didn't miss the way Moss and the blonde, now in the pilot's chair, exchanged worried glances at the dark tone of their boss' voice. Worried for _his_ sake, not Riddick's; which was interesting.

"So who'd I kill to deserve such first class treatment?" he asked, willfully prodding the wounded predator with a stick. Voluntary passenger or not, he wouldn't be _Richard B. Riddick_ if he just sat and took that sort of comment quietly. "Been out of the world five years; not even Toombs woulda found me if someone hadn't lit a flare over my head. But somehow I get the impression you're a little more ... dedicated."

"Five years," the merc repeated, leaning forward in his seat and bracing his elbows against his knees. "Yeah, that sounds about right. And why am I not surprised even one of your friends wouldn't keep your secret? Would have been better for you if you'd _stayed_ lost."

"Broke out of every slam they've ever put me in," Riddick shrugged. "At least this little adventure has the benefit of being ... different."

Something about that thought reminded him of another distinctive merc he'd once been chased by, and the resemblance finally clicked. Five years, some pricey upscale gear, that circled-star badge, and the quasi-professional mien of his crew all added up to a fairly suggestive answer. Had to've been somewhere that asshole learned it all, though he'd never have guessed this one was quite _that_ old. Age wore quick in this business; but then again, a lot of time spent in cryo would explain some things, too.

"Johns. The father," he concluded, tipping his head in a nod. Lot of trips he'd spent in the younger Johns' company; the blue-eyed devil hadn't been the kind to drone on about his history, but he'd kept a few snaps in his gear. Faces from the past: running from or living up to, he'd never said which.

"That's right," Johns replied, a mirthless smirk twisting his mouth again. "You expect me to be impressed you still remember his name, five years on?"

"Nah," Riddick drawled, returning smirk for smirk. The harder he pushed, the more intriguing the guy got; but if Riddick wouldn't knuckle under for Billy, he would do no less for Big Daddy Johns. "Just wondering if you've got the same lack of spine he did, underneath. Shit. And I thought this was going to be a challenge."

Johns' jaw shifted, and he lifted off his seat like he wanted to lunge into Riddick's space. His fourth crewmember moved before he could actually swing, though, clamping a big callused hand over his upper arm. "Boss."

"Get off of me," Johns snarled; but he did settle again, still smoldering, and Toombs seized the opportunity to try and score a point of his own. 

"You're supposed to be some slick-shit killer," the taller merc said, curling his lip. "But look at you now. What, did you think you'd get to keep having it all your way?"

"Guess we'll find out, won't we?" Riddick threw him a leer, still feeling Johns' attention like a brand on the side of his face. "Tell you what. When it happens, I'll make sure you go first. Little reward for being right; I'll make sure you don't suffer."

Riddick could practically see the unease hit him; the scent of fear in the air almost as good as the taste of victory. 

"When what happens, asshole?" Toombs snarled, trying to shake it off. "You're the one karma's coming for this time."

"Sure. If you say so," he smirked, enjoying the way Toombs' face flushed and eyes widened at the dismissal.

"Toombs, get your ass back your seat," Johns snarled, then looked away at last. "Dahl, if you think we've spoofed the sensors enough, set course for Helion Four – it won't be the next place they hit, no matter which direction the fleet goes, and there's a lot of empty space there to set down. Lockspur? Break out a stun baton; we take no chances with this lunatic. And Riddick?"

"Got orders for me too, Johns? Hate to remind you, but I got no incentive to obey."

"You want incentive?" Unlike Toombs, Johns cracked a more genuine smile at the banter, a lopsided thing that only increased the intensity of his gaze. "Shut the fuck up, and I won't ask him to dig out the muzzle, too."

"Fair enough," Riddick replied, then just for the hell of it sprawled deeper, kicking his feet out to bracket Johns'.

Lockspur slouched back into his seat then, tapping a length of black metal against his palm; beyond him, Toombs fumed; and next to Riddick, Moss shook his head like he didn't know what to make of it all. 

"On our way, Boss," Dahl spoke up, and the 'verse outside the transparent steel cockpit whirled with shifting stars.

* * *

Helion Four was a breadbasket world, full of ranches and grainfields gridded out across the temperate zone like a checkerboard. Prime was close enough to their sun that it produced mostly mineral salts, quality glassworks, and _light_ ; it was up to the rest of the system to provide what its vast hordes of pilgrims ever-increasingly consumed. Prime's mirrors warmed the surface of Four enough to boost its weather and ensure a growing season, but the sun itself was only a vague bright dot from there, small enough to cover with the tip of a finger and dim enough Riddick would be free to take off his goggles – if they let him.

Not that Johns seemed very open to giving him that chance. The merc led him off the ship with a tight grip to the forearm and Lockspur's baton secured to his belt next to his holster; no two guesses on whether he expected either one to go unused. The seedheads of some kind of wheat-like grain brushed against the tops of their thighs as they walked, and a light breeze ruffled the field around them like a rolling sea, filling their ears with a chaff of white noise. The perfect place to hold a truly private conversation.

Johns threw a stern look over his shoulder several paces out, nodding to Dahl, who stood watching at the foot of the ramp. "Make sure everyone stays with the ship. I don't expect any interference, but just in case, I want everything ready to go the moment I come back. And if _he_ comes back without me? Burn him down, and _then_ come and find me."

"Got it, Boss," Dahl replied with a curt nod and an even more unfriendly glance in Riddick's direction.

They'd clearly intended that to be the last word, but Toombs wasn't keen on letting that happen; one of the few virtues the man possessed. "Now wait just a minute," he growled, storming past her down the ramp. "You promised me you were the best, and I'd still get equal share for hiring on with you four rather than hiring my own. You think I'm gonna let you wander off with my investment, you got another think coming."

Johns' gaze was scalding, but not absolutely forbidding, about as intimidated by the guy's bluster as Riddick was. "Suit yourself," he said, then turned around to keep walking.

Behind them, the ramp groaned mechanically as it raised; Riddick caught himself after nearly tripping over a hummock of earth, and kicked up a little four-footed critter that ran off ahead of them through the wheat. At least one thing could be said for the place: odds were, none of the wildlife was big enough to eat them. He'd stopped on a world or two like that over the years, just long enough to lose pursuit and develop a distaste for boredom.

Be interesting, if the Furyan thing explained why he'd always felt like a dire cat in human skin; impatience had always come quick to him, even when he was in the service. The only thing that ever shut that part of his brain up was people, and those able to keep up got scarcer and scarcer as the years passed by.

He thought about Johns Junior again as they kept walking, heading for a rocky outcrop twice a man's height rising at the border of the field. About meeting someone on the opposite side of the law actually able to catch him on his own merits ... and not just once, but _multiple times_. Butcher Bay, and breaking each other out of slam, despite nominally being enemies – before the morphine, before that last down-spiraling pursuit, Little Johns had actually seemed _entertained_ by Riddick's continuing intransigence, the shiv to the back just the cost of doing business. The addiction had made him _mean_ , brought out a side of his character that had crossed one of Riddick's few lines, but before then, he'd been smart and whip-quick to act; an entertaining dance partner.

It made him wonder just how much of that had come from the father. Unlike Billy Badass, this Johns was seasoned, well settled in himself; he didn't act like he had anything left to prove. Except maybe how far he'd be willing to go in the name of vengeance. Made Riddick want to splinter that composure further, see just how much they were alike deep down ... if the delay wouldn't risk leaving Jack at the Necromongers' mercy. They'd zeroed every world in every other system they were rumored to have been through; not likely they'd spare Crematoria, and he'd let Jack down enough already.

Johns shoved him in the back as they passed the outcrop; there was a low rocky shelf on the other side, where fieldworkers had probably been taking breaks since the planet had been settled. Riddick stumbled and caught himself there with one hip, turning to slide onto the ass-polished seat like he'd been planning the maneuver all along, and braced his hands where he could pick at the shard of metal hidden in the hem of his shirt.

"So." Johns glared down at him, tapping the stun baton slowly against his hip.

Maybe that would intimidate most guys, but in Riddick's world, it mostly qualified as flirting. He settled himself more comfortably, then tipped his chin at him. "You got questions? Go ahead and ask 'em. Unless fucking around is the point of the game, in which case, I think I should tell you I don't do threesomes."

"Fucking asshole," Toombs spat from behind Johns, setting a hand on the butt of his weapon.

After the earlier intrusion, Johns was in no mood for that bullshit; he turned to the other merc with a snarl, pointing back around the swell of rock. "If you don't have anything constructive to say, then don't say anything at all, Toombs. I don't need your help here, so make yourself useful and go fucking keep watch!"

"All right, all right!" Toombs lifted his hand back off the gun in exaggerated submission, then took several more steps back out of Johns' range – though Riddick noticed he still kept most of his attention on them, not the scenery. Probably an accurate judgment of the most dangerous things in his vicinity, though Riddick couldn't say much for the man's priorities with the Necromongers probably still out there.

Johns snorted, but dismissed Toombs without further comment, crossing his arms over his chest with that baton still dangling from his fingers. "For the historical record, then. The Hunter Gratzner. That's the commercial vessel my son uses to transport you back to the slammer."

There was frustration there, too, simmering under the obvious anger; how many of Billy-boy's choices had he actually explained to his father? Had to seem like something of a misstep, taking Riddick the public way instead of by private vessel, if he hadn't told the whole story from Butcher Bay onward. "That particular time," he pointed out, pressing down on the sore spot. "Hardly the first. Didn't go in expecting it to be the last, either."

Johns' expression hardened further, like a mask carved of living stone. "That ship sends a distress call somewhere near M-344/G. A backwater system, multiple suns, one habitable planet. Does he survive the crash?"

"That desperate to know what to put in the family Bible?" Riddick drawled. "Ever think it might not be something you want to hear?"

"You don't get to tell me what I goddamn well want to hear!" Johns snarled, composure cracking again as he stabbed at Riddick's shoulder with the stun baton. 

He wasn't an idiot, so he'd been expecting the blow; he chuckled at the tingle that followed in the wake of the pain, and rolled his shoulder as best he could within the limitation of the binders. 

"For the historical record. He made it. I gotta ask again. You sure you want me to keep going?"

The second shock was even simpler to brace for; Riddick rode it out, teasing the splinter of metal free from the concealing seam as bright sparks shivered though his system. "Ain't going to change the question," he continued, voice slightly breathless now. "You gonna give me an answer?"

"You gonna tell me what I goddamn want to know?" Johns countered, backing himself down with a deep breath through his nose. "What did he do, give you his back again when you didn't need him anymore?"

"Wasn't his _back_ in danger," he replied, casually licking blood from a bitten lip. "Or mine, actually."

"Whose, then? How many others survived the wreck?"

"More than three, less than a dozen? Unfortunately, the natives enjoy the taste of visitors. And your son thought we might have a better chance if we threw one of ours to 'em, gave them a distraction."

"Who, you?" Toombs scoffed, still unashamedly listening in.

"Nah; a kid. One I left behind after, in New Mecca."

Left unspoken was the obvious answer to which of them hadn't walked away from that offer; even more unspoken, the unwritten hint that what Johns thought of his son's offer might inform _his_ fate, too. Interesting or not, Riddick had earned the first iteration of his legend trying to protect those who couldn't protect themselves; even in the skin of the hardened killer, a ghost of those early convictions lived on.

Johns passed that hurdle without a hitch, expression curdling with anger and denial. "What? You expect me to believe that my son would have sacrificed a child to save his own skin?"

"I expect you to realize you didn't know him as well as you thought you did," Riddick replied, evenly. "At least, unless you're telling me you knew about the morphine?"

"What morphine?" Johns started to reply; then his eyes widened. "Wait, you're talking about that fucking stab wound, aren't you. The one he wouldn't tell me how he got."

"Wouldn't be the first bounty hunter who got a little too fond of smoothing out his problems, and ended up smothering all his give-a-damn's along with 'em," Riddick acknowledged. Senior was in the business, too; even if he didn't know about Junior, he'd have seen it happen to others. "Wouldn't have done it before, maybe. But that's how he caught me again in the first place; woulda thought he'd at least told you _that_. Should have known better than to taunt me with kids in peril a second time."

The blood drained out of Johns' face, hollowing out the rage that had driven him, but he still wasn't ready to just accept Riddick's word. "So you _do_ admit you killed him," he said hoarsely, tightening his fist around the baton until his knuckles started to whiten.

"Nah." Riddick laid that out plain. "Might've been one of the bullets in the gun that did, but your son was the one pulled the trigger. You go there, you'll find tooth marks on his bones, not knife grooves."

"Do you actually think I'll believe that bullshit?" Johns retorted, pointing the baton in Riddick's direction.

"I think you'll look up recent law enforcement advisories in the Conga system, sixty-three days out from Butcher Bay, and find the proof that none of it _is_ bullshit," Riddick countered. Not so much like Little Johns in the end, it seemed; strangely encouraging to know that Billy had picked up his egocentric morals somewhere _after_ he'd left the man in front of him behind. Not that it much mattered; Riddick had almost finished working the pick into the lock, and he could hear the tromp of heavy boots somewhere close to.

Johns stared at him, expression torn – then turned his head and made a disgusted sound. "I'm not going to listen to any more of this. I don't know why I thought you might actually behave like a decent...."

"Shit. Toombs...?" he interrupted himself as his gaze caught on the empty space where the other merc had been standing. "Goddamnit, Toombs! I said keep fucking watch, not _go fuck off_!"

Riddick really, really didn't think that was the problem. The binders popped free of his wrists just as a blast of dark, almost violet light rippled through the air past the end of the outcrop.

"Toombs!" Johns yelled again, scrambling back to plaster his side against the rock where their attackers would have a harder time spotting his profile. Then he reached a hand up to the radio in his ear. "Dahl! What the hell is going on out there?"

His expression knotted as his second replied – but Riddick didn't even have to ask what she was saying as the merc ship swooped by overhead, chased by more of those blasts of energy.

Riddick eyed the blaster at Johns' waist, then jerked away as something came clattering down over the rock, landing on the shelf where he'd been sitting. Toombs' weapon, separated from the merc himself – and from the sound of that thud on the other side of the outcropping, not by accident, neither. So much for that twenty percent take; if by some chance he was still alive, he was bait for the Necros, now.

Riddick snatched up the abandoned weapon, then scrambled up to Toombs' former perch, sliding his goggles to the top of his head.

"No!" he heard Johns yell behind him, looking up past the rock where energy was continuing to streak after the ship rather than focusing on pinning them down. "They'll be on you the minute you so much as slow down! Get the fuck out, and come back for us when they're gone! ... You really think _this_ is what's gonna kill me? Goddamn it, you know better than that, Dahl!"

On the other side of the rock, the sea of wheat had been flattened further by an ugly vessel even bigger than Johns' ship; bigger than the troopships he'd seen on Prime too, likely the personal vessel of a commander. A full dozen Necros were spaced out around it, guarding the ship from all approaches; another squad were forging through the grain field in their direction, correctly guessing where the rest of them must be hidden. Riddick spotted the one with the ghost-pale skin and jet-black mullet at the forefront, the one who'd ordered him to kneel to their Lord Marshal.

Like hell. If any kneeling happened in Riddick's presence that day, it wasn't going to be _his_ knees hitting ground. "There any other structures nearby on this world, Johns? If we don't move now, we're not going to; there's more here than even I can take care of."

"Goddamnit!" Johns swore again, then fumbled something off his belt and threw it in a high arc toward the intruders, far past the spot where Toombs had landed. "You're lucky my odds are better with you!"

Riddick pulled his goggles hastily back into place, then slid roughly down to land at Johns' feet. An explosion lit the landscape as bright as noon on Prime as he landed, followed by a rain of dirt clods and a round of roughly barked orders. The gunfire stopped; then their leader raised his voice louder, demanding that Riddick surrender.

Riddick ignored him, attention fixed on the merc in front of him. "Might warn a guy before you do that, next time," he growled.

"Because I'm so concerned about your feelings." Johns gave a rough laugh. "Of all the things I never thought I'd say – better you than these fuckers. But you better believe that's not the end of this conversation."

"Fair enough," Riddick allowed. "What next?"

"Toombs dead?"

"Out of reach either way. He lives, they'll convert him; he doesn't, there's not a damn thing we can do about it," he shrugged.

Johns blew out an aggravated breath. "If you're lying...."

"C'mon, Johns. Why the fuck would I? I get more mileage out of the truth anyway," Riddick snorted.

Johns rubbed a hand over his mouth, then sighed and cast a glance toward the horizon. "I've been here a couple times before; there's a merc station a few klicks from here we could go for. They'll follow once they see us break cover, but if we can get there before them, there'll be enough ordnance on the shelves to hold them off long enough for Dahl to fetch us."

"Sounds like a plan," Riddick agreed, then tilted his head, unable to resist one more jab. "You _sure_ you can keep from killing me long enough to pick the rest of them off?"

Johns' nostrils flared, and he looked Riddick up and down again searchingly. Maybe a little less hateful, though the stew of frustrated emotions still simmering underneath made him difficult to read. "Maybe you're right about my son. Maybe you aren't. But you're still a murdering scumbag with a rap sheet as long as my arm. You're sure as hell still going to slam the minute we leave here. But until then, yes, I'm willing to call a truce."

"Just so long as we're making ourselves clear," Riddick smirked. "Don't lie to me, don't stab me in the back, and I'll return the favor."

"I don't goddamn believe this," Johns sighed, but took the offered hand to shake on it. "Fine."

The shouting of the Necromongers rose another notch then, and the sounds of incoming boots alerted them that their brief interlude was over. Johns scowled and took off running toward the next field, something higher and broader-leaved that would better conceal their presence from the level. "Keep up or shut up! Or preferably both!" he called.

Riddick watched 'til he vanished from sight, then glanced back around the outcropping to delay the pursuit. At least three of the no-name Necros were down and not getting up again, but the rest were already headed his way; Toombs wasn't among them, though, probably dragged back inside the ship. Which might be a problem in and of itself, if they got it off the ground again and used it to track them....

He took aim at one of the takeoff engines and fired a stream of blasts into the intake. They could eventually repair that or call backup, but it wouldn't be immediate. And in the meantime....

He ducked back again as a cluster of shots spattered off the rock in front of him and took off after Johns' trail, hurrying to catch up with the continuing rustle of disturbed stalks.

It wasn't long before there was rustling behind him, as well; Riddick picked up the pace, filling his lungs deep as he kept going, and kept his borrowed weapon ready despite the increasing burn in his thighs. Minutes passed, at least five and maybe more before he finally caught sight of Johns again, plunging out of another field and down into an irrigation channel; he cast a look over his shoulder as Riddick flung himself after him, mixed frustration and relief carving lines of tension on his face.

Johns left another grenade in the watercourse to hopefully fuck up their trackers, then hauled ass, splashing straight through every other ditch he encountered. They were both panting, wet to the thigh, and streaming sweat by the time they crashed through the doorway of the promised merc station, but they'd bought themselves a brief window, and that would hopefully be all they needed. 

"Dahl," Johns panted, stumbling briefly to brace his elbows on his thighs as he raised a hand to his ear again. "We're at the station – you got about five minutes to get here before they catch up again."

"More like four," Riddick shrugged, immediately heading for the locked armory. "Quicker we put this place in our rearview the better. Unless you're planning to set off the beacon?"

"What, and share you with all the other crews in the neighborhood?" Johns snorted, cocking an eyebrow at him as he straightened back up.

With Johns' humor returning, and the exertion bringing animation to his face ... this was looking like a better diversion all the time. Riddick hadn't forgotten Jack, but if he could stick with the man's crew a little longer, he might even manage to hit two birds with one stone; a nice coup, if he could manage it.

"Good call," he replied, voice warm with amusement. "Like I said, I'm not exactly known for sharing."

Johns' gaze snapped to Riddick's mouth, then dropped further south almost involuntarily; his face flushed even ruddier as he glanced away, hastily tapping off the mike in his ear.

Riddick chuckled, easily imagining what the man's second had had to say to _that_. "Come on, Johns. I know home has a certain equity, but there's no saying you can't enjoy the occasional vacation."

"You call _this_ a vacation?" Johns shoved past him to the rack of guns as the lock finally snapped open under Riddick's hands, quickly arming himself as their lead time ticked further toward the Necromongers' arrival. Riddick didn't bother objecting; he was after the rack of machetes and scythes hung just inside the doors, and the lethally sharp skinning knives on a shelf under the ammunition.

"One merc down, a bunch of fuckers out there who really deserve killing, all the sharp edges I could ask for and the perfect light to hunt by? Sure sounds like a vacation to me." Didn't hurt that the partner he was stranded with was a man who could almost match him for strength and stamina, temporary though their truce might be.

Weaponed up and fully supplied with ammo, Johns hustled back to the barred front windows, built for defense like many merc stations. A quick muzzle to the glass cleared a firing line, and he raised his chosen launcher to the window, taking aim. "You gonna follow my lead here?"

"What do you think?" Riddick replied, then returned to the door, bracing himself to throw it open.

"Goddamn savage," Johns snorted, then opened up on the approaching Necros as the first of their scouts jogged into view.

Riddick slid his goggles back up, then slipped out the door and got to work.

* * *

It would've been hard to say which of Johns' crew looked more surprised to see their boss walk up the ramp at Riddick's side. The three amigos were still spit-shined in their knock-off lawman's gear; Johns was muddy to the knee and bleeding from a graze to the cheek, and Riddick was liberally spattered with the drying blood of several Necromongers who'd expired out of 'due time.'

"Go, go, go!" Johns yelled, turning to fire a few last covering shots through the opening as the ramp began sweeping up again behind them. "Dahl, head for the ecliptic; we'll figure out a new route once we've shaken our tail here!"

"Uh, Boss...?" Moss replied, glancing warily between Riddick's bare wrists, the blades in his hands, and the empty space behind them. "We leavin' men behind now?"

"Necromongers got him," Riddick shook his head at the man. "Where they're taking him? Trust me, you don't want to follow."

"On our way, Boss. He right about Toombs?" Dahl asked, glancing up from the computer panel where she seemed to be remotely flying the ship to look them over.

"The man fell where we couldn't retrieve him," Johns acknowledged, then turned to Riddick, big gun still cradled in his arms. "As for Riddick ... I believe we had an agreement?"

The muzzle of the weapon wasn't quite pointed his direction, but wasn't quite not, either. "Believe we did," Riddick agreed, peeling his fingers back so the scythe and machete he'd taken were balanced only by his thumbs; less of a threat, but still returning posture for posture. "Wasn't it – I 'sure as hell am going to slam the minute we leave here'? Not a problem, so long as you drop me at the right one."

"The right one?" Lockspur spoke up, brow furrowed as he glanced between Riddick and his shot-caller. "What the hell's one particular slam got that you're so willing to go there?"

"Aside from the fact that he's broken out of every one of the single- and double-max slams within easy flying distance?" Johns replied, dryly. "I'd kind of like the answer to that question, myself."

"Not asking for anything that simple," Riddick replied, thoughtfully. "I'm thinking more triple-max myself. One of the no-daylight slams, where they put the _real_ trouble-makers."

"Still begs the question," Johns replied, narrowing his eyes. "Even you'd find breaking out of the likes of Crematoria a challenge. What's there that you'd risk your freedom to find?"

"Ain't _that_ much of a risk," Riddick shrugged that off, playing his trump card. "But even if it was ... you remember that kid I mentioned."

Johns' eyes flashed as his meaning sank in. "Thought you said you left him behind in New Mecca."

"Her," Riddick corrected him. "A twelve year old girl, left with an Imam for safe keeping. Thing is, she decided she'd rather go looking for me. Signed on with a merc clan, the first that would take her."

A sharply indrawn breath told him at least one of Johns' mercs caught the implications. "Not fine, upstanding citizens like yourselves, of course," he continued dryly. He'd asked the Imam for the details; the man hadn't known everything, but he'd heard ... enough. "The sort that promised to train her, then turned around and slaved her out to a bunch of Rykengolls. She ... objected to that. Violently. So your all-hallowed law sent her to Crematoria for her troubles."

"You want to break _her_ out," Moss breathed. "That's some insane shit, right there. That planet's got a fifty-two hour day, three hundred below on the night side, seven hundred degrees in the sunlight. Without a way out, you won't last an hour on the surface."

"Not telling me anything I don't already know," Riddick replied.

"Are you telling me you expect us to _help_ you?" Johns' voice rose incredulously.

"Help or don't, I'm telling you, I'll go willing," he shrugged. "Collect whatever bounty they'll give you and go ... or debate it and stick around 'til they figure out the Necros are on my trail. When they try to kill you, to pop the safe and get out ... either way, I've got a plan for."

"And if we take you there, and tell the guards what you just told us?" Johns challenged him.

"You do what you gotta do, and then _I_ do what I gotta do," Riddick replied, voice rumbling deep in his chest.

Johns stared intently at him for a moment, then pursed his mouth and looked away. "Dahl? We clear yet?"

"Picked up some weird sensor frequencies right after we cleared atmo – I dropped a decoy, then took off oblique, and the signals faded. Clear as we're gonna get." Her voice was tight, clipped – yeah, something about Jack's story had got to her. "We got us a destination yet?"

"Put in a data request for the Conga system," he replied, finally lowering his weapon. "Crimes against persons associated with a bounty capture, round about five years ago. Then set course for the Igneon system."

"Wise choice." The man actually _had_ been listening.

Johns' gaze was hot as he turned back in Riddick's direction. "I'm not admitting shit. Not 'til I have proof in hand. But regardless of how that goes, I want to see the person my son traded his life for. Whether that ends with you free or in chains ... gotta say, I'm still really hoping for the chains."

"Kinky," Riddick commented, tilting his head consideringly for maximum effect. "Not a deal-breaker, though. Especially if you let me peel off that snazzy uniform."

Dahl made a choking noise from the front as Johns set his jaw, metaphorical feathers obviously ruffled. "Really didn't need that mental image, _thanks_ ," she said. "Request sent, Boss; course set for Crematoria. Ready to punch the ion drive whenever you are."

"Well? You going to put your weapons down? Or are we going to do this the hard way?"

"Asking me to play nice? What the hell, I got a few hours with nothin' better to do." He deftly avoided the obvious joke, then turned toward Lockspur, casually holding out the pair of long blades. "I'm keepin' the knives, though. Just so you're aware."

"You say like that it's a surprise to me," Johns rolled his eyes, then jerked his head toward the corridor that led to the front of the ship. "Go get strapped in, Dahl, then get us moving."

Dahl nodded and shut down the panel she'd been working on; then she turned one last, lingering look on Riddick. "How much of your legend's manipulated like hers, and how much of it is you legit being a psycho?"

"Is it gonna sound like a lie if I say I'm not sure?"

"Fair enough," she snorted, then left.

Lockspur finished securing the blades and Johns' weapon away in a locker, then followed her forward; Moss shook his head and went after them, leaving just Johns and Riddick alone in the bay once more.

Riddick took stock of the merc's mood, then held his wrists out, bare and waiting. "Binders after all, then?"

"I'm not _that_ much of a hypocrite," Johns replied, then visibly relaxed his guard a notch, staring at Riddick with a furrowed brow. "Just wondering. You say you don't lie. But all this bullshit about you and me...." He gestured suggestively between them.

Struck a nerve, had he? "Still not lying," he replied, mouth curving in a slow smirk. "Gotta remember, Johns, I was stuck on an iceworld for five fucking years. Or not-so-fucking, if you catch my drift. You'd rather I turned the charm on Dahl instead?"

"I actually might like to see that," Johns scoffed. "She doesn't fuck guys, and her replies to that kind of offer tend to be ... entertaining. But ... no. Far as you're concerned, my crew is completely off limits."

But not him? "Reading you loud and clear," Riddick grinned.

"That's what fucking scares me," Johns said, then gave a rough chuckle. "Guess we'll see about that, won't we."

"Guess we will."

Riddick padded after him as he turned and headed forward, struck by sudden echoes of _there's got to be some part of you that wants to rejoin the human race_ , and began seriously considering revising his plans.

* * *

Riding down the track to yet another underground slam felt a little different with the key to the binders tucked away in one fist. Dropping down the hole from the guard station into the prison proper felt even stranger yet, knowing there was an ally already in place and waiting. He didn't necessarily trust Johns with his freedom – he doubted he'd ever trust anyone that far again, even if he had cause to – but he _did_ trust the man's motivation. And that was enough to turf up a whole host of memories he'd been painting over with blood for more than a decade.

If Fry and her sacrifice on his behalf had ever had the effect she intended, that impulse had been quickly buried over the five stagnant years that had followed. Johns, on the other hand, reminded him of not just the humanity Fry had represented, but a particular breed of camaraderie as well, one he'd lost with his first betrayal and sharpened himself against bitterly over the long and intermittent penal career that had followed.

It fucking scared _Johns_? Casual lust and a desire to fuck with the merc's head were one thing. Letting mission creep turn it into something more? He was going to have to keep an eye on that if he didn't want to end up dulling his edge.

Or maybe he had already. Meeting Jack again went less well than he'd hoped. Mostly because she was right; the Jack he'd known was as dead as the young soldier Riddick had been once, a hollow shell inhabited by the new animal that followed. Kyra, she called herself now. Fucking figured.

He probably should have told her when he'd left about the conversation he'd had with the Imam regarding the man's concern for her future, and the fallout from their brief detention on the _Kublai Khan_ after leaving M-344/G. Riddick was no model of civilized behavior, but even he knew that making your first kill that young would leave an impact. But by trying in his own half-assed way to protect her, he'd left her without support when she'd decided to up and follow in his footsteps anyway.

"Guess I got no stones to throw here," he finally admitted when her rant wore down. "Ain't like I didn't find a crew of my own to bust you out of slam."

That caught Kyra's attention as she turned to leave; she froze mid-stalk, learned predator's grace momentarily reverting to the awkwardness of her actual age, and threw him an incredulous look. " _You_? Working with mercs?"

"Led by another Johns, no less," he replied, spreading his hands wide. 

"What the _fuck_ , Riddick. The 'same fake badges that wanted to cut me up and use me for bait', you said! You're working with _them_?" Kyra fired back, eyes bright with anger behind the sweaty curls dangling in front of her face.

"Didn't think they came in any flavor of decent, either," he shrugged. "Still might not, it comes right down to it. But so far, sticking together's been the lesser evil."

"That is such bullshit!" she hissed. "Did you tell him what the other Johns wanted to do to me? Is he expecting me to be _grateful_ to him for whatever half-assed escape plan you've come up with? Fuck, are you expecting me to be grateful to _you_? I don't fucking need you, Riddick."

"Never said otherwise," he said, making no effort to fend off the sharp jabs of her finger as she made her point against his chest. "And yeah, I told him. Came all that way to find out what happened to his son; I thought he deserved the answer."

"...And he still _brought you here_?" She laughed wildly. "Man, I don't know whether I idolized you too much, or not enough back then."

"There's your problem; idolizing me at all," Riddick replied, shaking his head at her.

"You got that damn right," Kyra scoffed, then turned and disappeared into the steam drifting up from a busted pipe in the next section of the prison.

Events moved a little more quickly after that. He'd already established himself top of the pecking order; killing a man with a teacup in front of a bunch of other killers could do that for a guy's reputation. All he had to do was wait for the signal from above, and watch the prison routines for weakness just in case he had to go it alone after all. Complacency had never gotten him anywhere; he wasn't about to rely on it now.

A small group of other prisoners assembled while he waited, Kyra on the fringes, about how he'd been expecting. When the gunshots came he was ready, climbing back up the rope into the guard station with a pack of about a dozen convicts on his heels.

Johns was the first to greet him, standing over the bleeding body of the slam boss with a grimace of distaste. "Well, you were right about these assholes. Minute their guy caught a glimpse of a Necro shuttle on our tail, they tried to ghost us and went for the money."

His gaze immediately went to Kyra as she came up behind Riddick, but didn't ask; somewhere since leaving Helion Four, he'd regained his professional composure. Which just made Riddick want to mess him up _worse_ ... but that would be slightly counterproductive at the moment.

"Fat lot of good that did them," Dahl said sourly, casually spitting on the one pinned down under her boot. "Slam guards might've been mercs once, but they let themselves get lazy." 

None of the guards looked to be dead, though all of them had met the business end of someone's fist or weapon. Not the way Riddick would have played it – but this part of the job hadn't been up to him. And there were plenty following behind him he imagined would have something to say about that, anyway. 

"Easiest UDs we ever made," Moss shook his head, standing up from where he'd been crouched by the open safe. A sizeable bag dangled from one fist; the monthly government take at a slam like this wasn't anything to sneeze at. "Somethin' just ain't right about that."

"Shut your mouth; we still gotta get out of this place in one piece," Lockspur commented, still standing guard by the exit door. The greatest concentration of downed guards was at his feet; they'd made a break for the cart, but hadn't made it past him. "If there really is a ship on our tail, we're going to be cutting it close getting out of here."

"And speaking of things that ain't right," Johns spoke up again, gaze zeroing in on the still-shimmying rope as the rest of their new acquaintances followed Riddick and Kyra to freedom. "I see you brought some friends....?"

Riddick shrugged. "Figured we'd take the cart, leave them to walk the tunnel. Guard ship'll be waiting when they get to the other end. _If_ they make it that far."

"Didn't see anything, then; didn't hear anything," Johns replied, though he neither turned away nor lowered his weapon. Instead, he gestured the rest of his team sharply toward the door, standing between the other prisoners and their destination until Moss disappeared with the money.

"Fucking mercs," he heard one of the convicts mutter angrily behind him; Riddick checked the guy with an extended arm as he tried to lunge past, then met eyes with the Guv and jerked his head toward the others. "Got you this far; they're your responsibility now. Word to the wise, though; don't piss off the guys who control the escape route."

The older prisoner nodded grimly and turned to talk down his guys; Riddick took the opportunity to nudge Kyra and follow Johns' crew into the tunnel, jamming the door closed behind them with a bar of metal Moss tossed his way. They'd get past it, but not until the cart was halfway to the surface.

29.4 kilometers until they made it topside. And then ... he and Johns would finish that discussion.

* * *

The temperate window on that fucking cinder of a planet was only twenty minutes wide, and only circled around once every two-plus Earth days; they'd made quick enough time down the track to the hanger that there was some time yet until it swept over them again to free up their exit.

It almost made Riddick wish he'd gone the long way out over the surface. Constant action made tense moments like the one between Johns and Kyra a little easier to avoid.

"So," Johns said, staring down at her, the minute they were all back inside the ship. "You're the one."

"I'm the one," she agreed, tilting her head as she glared back at him. She was taller now than she'd been as Jack, taller than Dahl and only a few inches shorter than Johns, and dressed to emphasize her femininity now rather than to conceal it; Johns looked distinctly uncomfortable as she turned all the force of her displeasure on him. "Riddick tell you what your son wanted to do to me?"

"He told me _one_ version of it," Johns replied stubbornly, crossing his arms over his breastplate. "How about you tell me yours."

"How about I tell you how a terrified twelve-year-old shaved all her hair off and found a pair of swim goggles, because even before he told Riddick to kill me and drag my body for the monsters, Johns was an arrogant sack of shit who thought telling people to stuff a cork in me was _funny_."

Johns' gaze darted to Riddick, then back to Kyra, and ground his jaw. "So Riddick killed _him_?"

Kyra snorted at that transparent attempt to trip her up. "So Riddick cut him and left him to defend himself against the monsters," she corrected him, vey dryly. "He didn't actually kill _anyone_ except the night creatures; the rest of us were stupid enough to mostly do it to ourselves."

"You'd swear to that?" John demanded.

"I don't see why it would fucking matter if you didn't believe me in the first place," Kyra snorted, "but yeah, I'd swear. Would _you_ swear not to kill us or turn us in for the bounties?"

Dahl interrupted before Johns had a chance to answer that; she'd gone forward to pre-figure the launch sequence for maximum ascent angle and minimal scorching, and apparently checked messages while she was there, because she had a sheet of flimsi in one hand.

"Here, Boss," she said grimly, glancing curiously at Kyra as she handed the thin piece of holographically printed plastic over to her shot-caller.

Johns nodded to her, and glanced down long enough to read the sheet ... then balled it up in one tense fist, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he turned to glare at Riddick.

"Conga system," Riddick guessed.

"Conga system," Johns replied with a frustrated growl. "But he was my _son_ , Riddick. I don't know how I'm just supposed to let that go."

"You remember who he was before the morphine took him," Kyra replied, very bluntly, "and leave me and Riddick the fuck alone."

"And do what? Send you back to a life of killing people? Or running from the Necromongers for the rest of what would probably be very short lives?" Johns scoffed. "Might as well say I've got a responsibility to clean up after my son's mess, which includes what you do with the life he wanted to take from you."

"Might as well, but you'd be _wrong_ ," she replied. "The only one responsible for me, is _me_. You think I didn't learn that the last few years? Watch it or don't, but don't you fucking play the guilt game."

Johns stared at her a moment longer, then turned to Dahl and jerked his head at her. "Get her settled. Use the empty crew chair – she wanted to be a merc once, let's give her a better impression."

Dahl's eyebrows lifted skyward, but she nodded, then turned her attention to Kyra. "Boss says it, you got it. C'mon, then."

Kyra looked momentarily thrown; she glanced between the two mercs, then over her shoulder at Riddick. Whatever she saw in his face apparently reassured her, because she tossed her head, then turned to follow Dahl, visibly relaxing some of the tension in her frame. "So what's _your_ story?"

And then the two women were gone; Moss and Lockspur had managed to make themselves scarce as well, cleaning up or doing maintenance or whatever else they could find to take them out of range of the resurgent storm of Johns' attitude. Riddick wouldn't put it past them for one to still be listening, tapped into the comm system in case he suddenly turned back into the savage killer they'd been expecting from the start. Either way, though, they were as alone as they were going to get on the small ship, and Riddick didn't give a damn who knew it.

"Lot of things going to change in the next few hours," Johns said, staring at him as he slowly closed the distance between them. More of the anger had faded out of him; he looked raw, like a landscape washed clean after a tempest. "Guess as far as I'm concerned, the slate's clear – at least until the next time your bounty sheet crosses my screen. But this Necromonger thing. You knew they'd be following before we ever came here."

Riddick shrugged. "Their leader's got some kind of grudge. Not like yours, though. Killed my whole people, tried to kill me, all because of some shitty prophecy. All my life, I was told I was fished out of a liquor store bin the day I was born; turns out it was their fucking Lord Marshal left me for dead, and whoever took me to the orphanage must have lied to protect me. Now the guy knows I survived? He ain't gonna stop until one of us ain't breathing."

"Could get yourself lost – stay out ahead of them," Johns suggested, casually unbuckling his up-armor. 

"Could do that. Wouldn't stop them tracking your ship, though," Riddick replied, quirking a smile as he reached up to slide his goggles to the top of his head again. The light was dim enough for it, and the shine pattern of Johns' body heat was as striking as the rest of him. "If you wanted to join 'em that bad, you could have just said, and we could have avoided all that unpleasantness back on H-Four."

"You are _such_ a fucking smartass," Johns grumbled, face washed out in monochrome now as he stared at Riddick from up close, vanishing and then reappearing as he slid the chest piece up over his head. "If any of your legend _is_ made up, it's no mystery where it comes from."

Riddick chuckled. "Don't know how many times someone's tried to cross me off the list. First one might've come as a surprise, but you damn well better believe I've earned the others."

"You ever tried to settle somewhere, make life easier for the rest of us?"

"A time or two. Someone always finds me. Imam wanted my help this last time, scared for his family; one point five mil UD, and five years of quiet wiped away in an instant. Cost him his life when the Necros dropped, though. So what does that mean I owe the widow?"

"Not selling you out, then – playing fetch?" Johns snorted. "Kind of would have liked to know that _before_ I showed up. Is anything about you what it says on your rap sheet?"

"I don't know. Never seen it. How much detail does it go into?" Riddick let his mouth curve as he moved further into the man's personal space, sliding a hand up over his chest until his hand curled just around the base of Johns' throat. He pressed gently into the dimple between his collar bones, curious, and wasn't disappointed by the reaction.

Johns' breath hitched at the touch, eyes darkening. "Clearly, not enough," he replied hoarsely. "Just to be clear, though ... do I need to watch _my_ back for a shiv when we're done here?"

"Only one thing to do if they won't leave me alone – and I'm not going to do their job for them," Riddick snorted, dropping the hand to snare the hem of Johns' shirt. He'd got to the armor before Riddick could follow through on the earlier hint, but he wasn't going to deprive him of _all_ the pleasure of peeling him out of his gear. "Drop me back where you found me, keep Kyra from following, and I'll owe you one after it's all over."

"One man against a whole army of Necromongers?" Johns shook his head. He was just as fit under the cloth as Riddick had expected, heavily muscled and scarred; nearly as rich a history as Riddick's own written there to be explored with his fingertips.

"One man against a culture that believes in keeping what you kill," he corrected. "Advantage, _me_. I might not give a shit if it all ends, but there's a few people I'd rather they didn't send to their UnderVerse." Even Toombs, to whom he'd made a promise not yet fulfilled.

"An hour 'til the atmosphere clears. That enough time for you to make this interesting?" Johns changed the subject, returning the favor with Riddick's shirt.

It had been awhile since the body in his bed had been that flavor of experienced; the scrape of gun calluses over his bared skin went straight to Riddick's dick. "Like to see you stop me," he grinned back. "Got a bunk here?"

"Not much of one, but enough space for this." Johns brushed a thumb down the line of hair trailing up from Riddick's waistband, prompting a full-body shudder. "I'm warning you, it takes a lot to impress me."

"Might have to work on your definition of a _warning_ ," Riddick drawled, then leaned in to test the waters.

Johns kissed like he did everything else; competently, with an undercurrent of frustrated passion. Might be entertaining to break that loose, if they had a little more time; but as it was....

"I've still got those knives on me; that going to be a deal-breaker for you?"

From the way the man's pulse lurched under his palm, he was going to assume it wasn't; Johns didn't even try to deny it.

"Lead on, then," he grinned. Time to make this interesting, indeed.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [art for a certain equity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978034) by [araydre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/araydre/pseuds/araydre)




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